


All of My Maps Have Been Over Thrown

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: Jim can bring one person back from death. He chooses Amanda.





	1. Chapter 1

When the Pandorians had insisted that Jim visit their planet alone, he had been simultaneously annoyed, curious, and a little bit afraid. While the Pandorians had proven themselves to be a peaceful and friendly people, as well as an excellent addition to the Federation, Jim found it hard to trust what was essentially a race of Gods. Their powers were exceptional, their abilities without end. If they had wanted to simply blink Jim out of existence, he would have absolutely no recourse. So it didn’t really matter if he beamed down with his entire crew—he was at their mercy. Not a position that Jim Kirk ever liked to be in. 

But after they made their offer, Jim was glad to be alone. He was happy that he bore the responsibility on his shoulders alone, and nobody else had to be there to second-guess, or suffer through, the decision. It was easier that way. Especially since he alone would be responsible for the potential consequences. He alone would be left to face the inevitable guilt. And there would be guilt. Jim had no doubt about that. Regardless of his final choice. Regardless of his rationale for his decision. Regardless of the time he took or the factors he considered, there would be the fear that maybe, maybe, he had done the wrong thing. 

That the Pandorians were capable of doing just what they claimed they would, he had no doubts. In fact, he had seen it with his own two eyes. During the final battle, Lily—one of the youngest of their race—had been hit with phaser fire. The phaser had obviously been set to kill and she disappeared before she could even scream. Jim had been ten feet away from her at the time. Too far away to reach her. Too far away to push her out of the way. He hadn’t even had a chance to shout a warning. Even a God can’t cheat death. He remembered those words flashing through his mind with sickening clarity. Their power, while impressive, was nothing compared to the technology of a society with warp capabilities, and the Klingons were bound and determined to prove that. 

But when the dust finally settled and the dead were accounted for, Lily had been there. Whole. Smiling. With absolutely no memory of being demolished at a cellular level. He had been the only member of the Enterprise who even realized that Lily had been killed during the battle, so he was the only one with questions. Questions that he wisely kept to himself. One didn’t interrogate a miracle. He had been absolutely terrified. Everything inside of him quaked at the realization of what he had just witnessed. Everything he had understood about life and death had been flipped upside down, and the knowledge of their power immediately made him consider the ramifications. And the possibilities. Was it magic or science? Mysticism or mathematical formulas? Were there rules? He didn’t want to know the terrible answers. 

Jim still didn’t want to know the terrible answers. He didn’t know where the soul dwelled when it was away from the body. He didn’t want to know how they had reassembled her vaporized body. And everything inside of him told him to run away from what they were offering. How many works of literature explored this very conundrum? And how many came to the same conclusion? Life, once lost, could never be restored. It didn’t matter how much you pled and it didn’t matter how much you cried. Tears couldn’t resurrect a body, and neither could endless prayers, and neither could anger. No amount of bargaining would ever work. And yet these aliens, these Pandorians claimed the power. And they were offering that power to him. For one moment. For one person. 

Just one. 

How could they ask that of him? How could they offer that as a reward when every single person on his ship had lost somebody close to them? Every single crewmember bore the scars of a parent’s death, or a lover’s untimely demise. So many of them had lost friends, relatives, and spouses during the Narada Engagement. Not to mention his own losses. How could he ever look his mother in the eye again with the knowledge that he could have brought back her husband, the father of her sons, and had chosen not to? 

Despite his uncertainty and anger, this was not an unusual situation or a unique decision. He was just usually on the other side of it, selecting which of his crew he would send to death rather than selecting the one person he would bring back. A great deal of his training at the Academy had been directly related to dealing with that decision. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how perfectly he commanded, he would lose fine men and women in the line of duty. They would die at their stations. They would beam off the ship and never return. Their bodies would be shot out into space, or they would be buried in an alien planet in unmarked graves. If they were buried at all. They would be shot and cut down. They would catch mysterious illnesses and spend their final moments thrashing and hallucinating in a fevered state. McCoy hated working in space, and he was right to. 

Jim would have liked to have Bones there. He was certain that the other man had the experience necessary for this decision. Didn’t he make life and death decisions all the time? Wasn’t he accustomed to prioritizing one person over another when it came to life-saving treatment? But even that wasn’t quite the same thing as plunging his hand into the ether and plucking out one soul among billions. One precious soul. One soul prized above all others. 

“I can’t do this.” 

Lily smiled at him with gentle understanding. “I understand that this is not a choice to be made lightly. But it is a gift.” 

“I don’t want to make the wrong choice.” 

“How can this question be divided into something as binary as right and wrong?” Lily asked. “Let your heart decide.” 

“My heart?” Jim snorted. “My heart is a poor judge. It never makes the right choice.”

“I can see this troubles you. Perhaps you wish to receive a different gift?” 

“No,” Jim said quickly. “No. But I have a few questions.” 

“Ask whatever you wish.” 

“When you bring the person back, do they feel anything? Any pain?” 

Lily’s face didn’t change. It looked as young, as tranquil, as before. There wasn’t even a hint of recognition in her eyes, and that’s when Jim understood that whoever he chose truly would be ignorant of their own death. There would be no painful memories, no trauma, no tears. 

“We have never received any reports of pain. In fact, each time we have brought a person back, they never indicate they remember dying at all.” 

“How often do you bring somebody back?” 

Lily shook her head. “Not often. It is not a decision that we take lightly.” 

“So when somebody dies, you don’t just automatically bring somebody back?” Jim asked. 

“No. There are certain requirements. Certain rules.” 

“Are you bending the rules now for me?” 

Lily smiled. “Not quite bending them. But yes, this is outside the realm of our normal behavior, if not our laws.” 

“Nobody ever…regrets it?” 

“I think I understand your fear, James Kirk. This is not a trick. It’s not a test. You will not find that yourself being punished for making the wrong decision, and you will not suffer negative consequences if you follow your heart.” 

“Do you ever tell somebody you resurrected that they died?” 

“No.” Lily’s smile faded, and her gaze drifted over his shoulder. “It’s kinder not to. Too often people try to remember what it was like. Others lose respect for death and act in foolish and dangerous ways. They believe they are immortal, but they forget they are not invulnerable.”

Jim almost smiled. “Yeah, I think I understand that mindset. So, how does this work? I just tell you the name of the person? And it can be anybody?” 

“Yes. Though the more information you give us, the better. It’s a big universe, after all. It’s important to be specific.” 

“That makes sense. Look…I don’t want to talk anybody out of this, but if word gets out that your people have the ability to resurrect the dead, there would be no end of trouble.” 

Lily frowned as though that had never occurred to her. “Would you be able to keep it a secret?” 

“I…” How to explain the sudden appearance of a person who had been dead for years? How could he even begin to talk away that remarkable occurrence? Of course, he could swear everybody on the ship to secrecy. But it would be a simple matter to have the planet classified as dangerous as quarantined. “Yes, I believe I could.” 

“I trust you. We all trust you, James Kirk.” 

Jim was beginning to suspect that was the problem. Starfleet trusted him. His crew trusted him. The Pandorians trusted him. And sometimes—in moments like this—he didn’t feel remotely worthy of that trust. Not because he wasn’t trying his best. God knew that he was. He just didn’t have the confidence to believe his best was good enough. Especially in this particular circumstance. But he knew he was not going to leave without accepting their generosity. He knew that he wouldn’t return to the Enterprise on his own. 

He would love to meet his father. He would love to shake George Kirk’s hand and touch the man who had just been the ghost haunting his life and every step he took. He would love to show his father the Enterprise. To have the chance to say _look Dad. Look what I’ve done._ And then he would see the proud smile in response. The smile he had waited his entire life to witness. The smile he would never see if he lived to be two hundred years old. 

But George Kirk had died a hero. A young man at the very peak of his life, he had sacrificed everything to save his crew, his wife, and his unborn child. It was a sacrifice that Jim would never be allowed to forget. Would resurrecting him undermine that sacrifice? Would it somehow diminish the choice he made? Would it be disrespectful despite his best intentions? Was he over thinking the whole thing? Because as much as he’d like to meet his father, at the end of the day, they would be strangers. There were no memories between them. Nothing to build on. And there was a hole in Jim’s life, but it was not in the shape of George Kirk. 

“I think I’ve made my decision.” 

“Are you certain?” 

“Yes. I am. How long will it take?” 

Lily shook her head. “Not long. You can wait here, if you like. What is the name?” 

Jim smiled. 

#

The Bridge always ran like clockwork no matter who sat in the captain’s chair. Even so, Spock was always one hundred percent aware of what was happening around him, from the adjustments Sulu made while they were in orbit to the standard communications that Uhura received. He was always prepared for a threat to reveal itself, though Spock knew the statistical likelihood of anything happening while they were in orbit was a mere two percent. Vigilance was still required, especially since Klingons had been in the area so recently, but no real threat existed. 

“Spock?” 

“Yes, Lieutenant?” 

Uhura rose from her station and circled over to stand beside him. “What do you think is going on with Captain Kirk?” 

“I do not know.” 

“He’s been down there a long time, don’t you think?” 

“He’s been planet side for six point eight hours.” 

“Yeah, Spock, that’s kind of my point. The message I received from the High Counsel was that they wished to offer Captain Kirk a gift of appreciation. And they insisted that he go down alone. Which is against at least three different regulations.” 

“Are you worried, Nyota?” Spock asked softly. 

“A little, yeah. And don’t tell me that I’m being illogical. We don’t know what they’re capable of. We don’t even know if they’re really on our side. The only reason we helped them was to stop the Klingons from gaining more ground in Federation space.” 

“Yes, I am aware of that. Is the Captain’s frequency still open?” 

“Yes.” 

“Given that fact, and the fact that we haven’t received…” Spock’s words were cut off by an alert from the transporter room. He flicked the intercom on. “Spock here.” 

“Spock, Kirk here. I want you to meet me in sickbay.” 

A dozen questions immediately sprung to Spock’s mind, but now wasn’t the time or place to question his captain. “Yes, sir.” He flicked the intercom off and turned to address the bridge. “Lieutenant Sulu, you have the conn.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

It was illogical to make assumptions when he had so little information. All information about the Pandorians pointed to a very peaceful, intelligent civilization. While they were still a pre-warp society, it was only a matter of time until they too conquered space travel. They had been grateful for Starfleet’s intervention in general, and for the role Captain Kirk had played in particular. Therefore, it was not reasonable to assume that they had done anything to hurt the Captain. And the faint hint of fear on the periphery of his mine was even more irrational. After his display of rage and grief on the bridge of the Enterprise, Spock no longer kept up the pretense that he did not experience emotions. But when it came to Captain Kirk, it was best to ignore emotions as often as possible. 

Still, Spock had not entirely dismissed that vague fear by the time he reached the sickbay doors. They gently swished open, revealing three people. The first two he had expected to see, of course. Captain Kirk stood beside Dr. McCoy, his arms folded, his face set in a surprisingly serious frown, but he was clearly not injured. The expression on McCoy’s face was more difficult to name. Despite his time living among humans, he was not familiar with the truly wide range of emotions they experienced, or the slight nuances of each one. Therefore, he couldn’t recognize the emotion he saw reflected in the doctor’s eyes. 

Not until that emotion slammed him in the chest. 

The woman smiled at him. The same smile he had seen in his dreams countless times. She held her arms out to him in a gesture that was so familiar, and when he was a child, so unwanted. He felt himself moving. Or perhaps the room was moving. He couldn’t feel his legs. His eyes stung with alien pain. His face burned. His chest burned. The carefully ordered Universe that Spock had struggled so valiantly to understand fell apart and everything he thought he understood became unreal. 

“Spock?” 

He heard her voice. He understood she wanted him. But this could not be. His heart cried out for her, but his mind refused to let him move. This was a trick because there simply could not be any other explanation. The woman in front of him could not be his mother because his mother had perished on Vulcan three years ago. That was a fact. Concrete truth. The only truth in the Universe that mattered. So this must have been a trick. 

“Spock?” This time it was Kirk’s voice. 

Spock turned to him, desperate for an explanation. “Captain?” 

“It’s real. She’s real. I promise you that.” 

“It’s her,” McCoy confirmed. “I ran a scan and compared it to her records. There’s absolutely no question of her identity.” 

Amanda laughed. “Listen to you three. Who else would I be?” 

“Mother…” But Spock was at a loss. He couldn’t say anything else and he couldn’t move. 

“I probably should have handled this differently,” Kirk muttered. “Spock, come with me. Ms. Grayson, if you’ll excuse us.” 

Spock couldn’t respond to a request from his own mother, but when he heard his Captain’s order, there was no question of obeying. He followed the other man into McCoy’s private office, surprised that he could walk at all under his own power. 

“I’m sorry, Spock. I probably should have tried to explain first.” 

“I do not understand how this is possible, Captain.” The statement barely scratched the surface of his confusion, but it was the best he could manage. 

“That makes us two of us. But apparently, the Pandorians have had this ability since the beginning of their civilization. I wouldn’t have believed it at all, except I witnessed it with my own eyes. Lily was shot during the battle with the Klingons. She disintegrated right in front of me.” 

Spock shook his head. “That cannot be. I discussed the planet’s defense system with her on the night we beamed back to the Enterprise.” 

“Yeah, I know. To show us their gratitude for our assistance, they offered me the chance to choose one person to bring back.” 

“But how?” 

“Spock, I really don’t know. And I think you’re kind of missing the larger point here.” 

“Is it really her?” 

“Lily told me it would be. Bones said it’s here. But I think you’re really the only person who can answer that question.” 

Yes, Spock could understand that point. And yet, if the replica was complete and accurate enough to fool the doctor’s scanners, then surely it would fool him. Especially since his human emotions were threatening to cloud everything and completely take him over. 

“What was the price?” Spock asked. 

“There wasn’t one. It was a gift.” 

“Does she know?” 

“No. She has no concept that three years has passed, and she won’t know until you tell her. But it’s best if we don’t tell her she died. That could have a serious impact on her. Lily warned me about that.” 

“It’s not possible.” 

“Clearly, it is possible. Whatever the secret of life and death is, they’ve found it. I don’t know if it’s magic or science or something else completely. But I do know what I saw. And I know your mother is in the next room waiting to see you. We’ll keep running tests. If she’s some sort of imposter…” 

If she was an imposter, Spock didn’t want to know. Illogical, but no less factual because of that. He didn’t want to lose his mother twice. He couldn’t stand that. 

“Go to her,” Kirk repeated softly. 

He had no choice but to comply. His heart wanted so very badly for this to be real. When the door opened, she was still standing there, patiently waiting while Dr. McCoy ran his tricorder over her. She smiled when she saw Spock. How many times had he been mortified by that smile? How many times had he wished his mother had been less human? He had been young and foolish at the time, but the memory still stung. Had she ever known? He hoped not. He most sincerely hoped not. 

“There you are. I was beginning to think I’d have to go and find you.” 

“You’ve had a long journey, Mother. I’m sure you would be more comfortable in your own quarters.” 

She frowned at the mention of a journey. “You know, Spock, it’s the strangest thing. I remember when you came for us, but I don’t remember anything after that. Have I been on the ship for very long?” 

Spock stared at her, completely at a loss. He was not prepared to lie to her. He was not prepared to answer any of her questions. “No, not long.” 

“You look different.” 

“Do I?” 

She cupped the side of his face, and Spock couldn’t help but lean into the touch. Her hand felt right—the cool texture of the skin, the length of her fingers. She even smelled right. That sweet scent that comprised of his first sensory memory. It enveloped and entranced him, and he suddenly felt like a child. 

“Yes. Older. Around the eyes.” She smiled with a touch of sadness and pulled her hand away. “Though I suppose I’ll always remember you as my little boy.” 

“Do you remember me? Everything?” 

“Of course. What kind of question is that, Spock?” She looked so honestly perplexed that Spock almost felt ridiculous asking her at all. Like he had no right to voice such things. Especially since she apparently had no recollection of death. 

“My apologies, mother, it’s nothing. Come. I’ll show you to your room.” 

Amanda looked over to McCoy. “Well, Doctor? Do I have your approval to leave?” 

“Yes.” McCoy swallowed. “Healthy as a horse. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“I’ll explain everything later, Mother.” He touched her elbow very briefly. He only meant to nudge her towards the door. But at that moment, his body became convinced of the truth that his mind refused to grasp and the floor seemed to dip beneath him. He had never fainted in his life, but he was in very real danger of precisely that. His legs turned to water, his bones to mush. The room spun with alarming speed, and he heard McCoy say his name, but he couldn’t actually see the doctor. He couldn’t see anything except his mother. 

His mother. Returned to him. A miracle. 

Strong arms closed around his arms and stopped him from crumpling to the floor. “Spock? Are you all right? Do you need McCoy to check you out?” 

“No, thank you.” His voice didn’t even sound like it belonged to him. “There is no need for that?” 

“Are you sure?” Jim’s voice seemed louder now. Or maybe his ears just weren’t buzzing now. “You nearly hit the floor.” 

“I am quite well, I assure you.” He gently pulled away from the Captain’s grip. “I was just about to show my mother to her quarters. The state room beside mine is currently empty, if that’s satisfactory to you.”

“Sure, Spock. Whatever you think is best.” 

“Spock, if you’re feeling ill…” 

“No, mother, I feel quite well.” He offered his arm to her, but this time when they touched, he didn’t feel the same sickening sense of vertigo. “I assure you.” 

She patted his arm affectionately. “I believe you.” 

Spock half expected her to disappear into a cloud of smoke the moment they stepped outside of sickbay. But nothing like that happened. Nothing at all extraordinary happened. She walked like his mother. She talked liked his mother. She smiled like her, and she watched him with the same infinite patience and adoration that he had become so accustomed to as a child. How she had loved him then. How she still loved him. 

That couldn’t be replicated, could it? If somebody wanted to create a carbon copy of Amanda Grayson, it would be simple to do. There were holographs of her easily available. He knew the Federation had extensive records of her life simply because she had been the first Terran to marry a Vulcan. It would not be difficult to copy her looks, her background, or her knowledge. But the look that had always been reserved for Spock alone—how could anybody copy that so accurately? How could that look exist if it wasn’t real? 

Trying to apply logic to an entirely illogical situation was, as Captain Kirk might say, a losing game. It would not sooth the tumult of his mind or of his emotions. But Kirk had been wrong about one thing. It wouldn’t be either McCoy’s scanners or his own feelings that would decide if his mother was nothing more than a clever trick. There was only one way to confirm her identity. He would need to contact his father. Sarek would recognize his wife and bondmate. In the meantime, Spock had no other choice but to treat her as his mother, but keep his distance while he did it. 

Even if that would hurt both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

“You know that everybody on this ship is going to know what you’ve done sooner rather than later, right?” 

“I know.” 

“And they’re going to want to know how you did it,” McCoy continued. 

“I know.” 

“What are you going to tell them?” 

“The truth, I guess.” 

“And what are you going to tell them when they ask why you chose Amanda Grayson?” McCoy pressed. “Are you going to tell them the truth about that?” 

Jim loved and respected McCoy as a friend and a doctor. There wasn’t a soul on the ship who knew more about Jim, or had been there for him through thick and thin. In every way that counted, Leonard McCoy was the brother that he had been missing from his life. But at that moment, he could have happily punched the older man in the face. 

“She died before her time.” 

“A lot of people die before their time, Jim. Like your father.” 

“My father’s been dead for twenty-eight years. He’d be a stranger to me. But Spock’s mom…it’s just like she’s been sleeping a long time.” 

“Yeah, she’s a regular Rip Van Winkle.” 

“Help Spock with whatever he needs. I think he might have some difficulty adjusting.” 

McCoy snorted. “And you think he’d come to me to talk about it? I’d be the last person he’d confide in.” 

“You’re his doctor.” 

“Yeah, a witchdoctor, according to him. Maybe you should speak to Uhura.” 

Jim grimaced inwardly. He didn’t talk to Uhura about Spock. Not if he could help it, and not if it didn’t directly pertain to work. Discussions of a personal nature were strictly verboten. On the other hand, Jim knew that Spock would need help through this, and, to Jim’s knowledge, Uhura was the only person who had a relationship with him that wasn’t strictly professional. God knew Spock would never accept help from him. Not as a friend, at any rate. 

“I want you to prepare a ship-wide memo explaining the situation. Mark it as classified information, not to be shared with anybody off-ship. Keep it short and stick to the facts. Mention that if anybody has any questions to submit it in writing.” 

“Jim, I don’t know what the hell to say.” 

“Figure something out. I want it distributed no later than eighteen hundred hours.” 

McCoy studied him with narrow eyes, and Jim half expected another protest. But McCoy didn’t force him to pull rank. He merely inclined his head. “You should get some rest. You look wiped out.” 

Jim waved his hand. “No, I’m fine.” 

“You sure? You certainly don’t look fine to me. Let me give you a supplemental hypo at least.” 

“No. I’ll be on the bridge if you need me. I’m going to get us out of orbit.” 

“Jim…” 

“Don’t say it. As soon as I’ve got everything settled on the bridge, I’ll take myself off duty for twelve hours. Will that make you happy?” 

“I suppose that’ll do,” McCoy said gruffly. 

“Good.” 

Jim didn’t know why he was so tired. He didn’t know why he didn’t feel like celebrating. He had given Spock the very thing he wanted most. He’d actually found a way to make Spock happy, regardless of what Spock claimed about his capacity for experiencing that emotion. And on that level, he was deeply satisfied. But he still felt a certain weariness from the decision. Physically, he was utterly exhausted. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in several days. Or a proper meal in at least that long. He would probably feel like himself again after ten hours of sleep, a good dinner, and a shower. Not necessarily in that order. 

But first, he had to see to other things. 

Jim didn’t even slow as he entered the bridge. “I need to speak with you in the conference room.” 

She fell into step behind him without a word. She still didn’t say a word when the doors shut behind her, and Jim didn’t know where to begin. So he blurted the first thing came to his mind. 

“I resurrected Spock’s mom.” 

Uhura didn’t even blink. “You what?” 

“I…well…I resurrected Spock’s mom. The Pandorians offered me the chance to bring one person back.” 

“That sounds like a trick to me.”

“You’re not the only one. But, I promise you, they have that ability. And Amanda Grayson is on this ship right now.” 

“That’s…” Her protest faded as she studied Jim’s face, and confusion gradually turned into understanding, and then acceptance. “Oh my God. How is Spock doing?” 

“He’s…I don’t know. At first he didn’t believe me, either. But he came around pretty quick. He’s showing her to a room now.” 

“That’s…well that’s good. Right?” 

“Yeah. But I’m a little bit worried about him. I’d guess that Spock isn’t exactly equipped with the tools necessary to deal with all of this.” 

Uhura frowned. “I agree with you. But I’m not sure why you’re talking to me about it.” 

For a moment, Jim wasn’t sure if he had heard her correctly. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation that he didn’t believe was necessary. “Normally, when something serious happens to a person they go to their friends, or barring that, some sort of professional. As far as I know, you’re the only person who’s like a friend to Spock, and we both know he won’t go to Bones.” 

“What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“You basically said that Spock doesn’t have any friends. What about you?” 

“If any of my crew needs me, I’m always here for them.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Jim knew that. But he didn’t particularly feel like explaining that despite his best efforts—and his own feelings—his friendship with Spock had stalled, never quite moving above a professional level. He trusted Spock implicitly, with his ship and his life. If he was asked to create the perfect First Officer, he would describe Spock down to the smallest detail. As long as he had Spock at his back, he never feared for his own safety. And when he left his ship in Spock’s care, he had a certain peace of mind. But he never sensed anything besides a sense of duty from Spock. He served his Captain admirably, but beyond their regular games of chess, he never seemed to regard Jim as anything more, or other, than his superior officer. 

“Just try to keep an eye on him. That’s all I’m asking for.” 

“I will,” Uhura promised. “Are you going on duty?” 

“I am.” 

“Are you sure? You look…well, no offense Jim, but you look horrible.” 

“None taken. I was just going to get the ship out of orbit, then I’m going off-duty.” 

“Jim…is it really her?” 

“We don’t have any reason to believe it isn’t Amanda.” 

“Did you choose her or did they?” 

“It was my choice. I could pick anybody to bring back.” 

“And you picked Spock’s mother.” 

“Are you going to ask why I didn’t pick my father?” 

Uhura looked at him with knowing eyes. “No, I’m not going to ask that. I know why you did it.” 

Jim tilted his head. “You do?” 

“Yes. Would you like me to send a message to New Vulcan?” 

“For Sarek? Wait for Spock to let you know. And don’t mention this to anybody else. I doubt anybody will notice she’s on board just yet. I’d rather everybody find out the same way.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Jim rubbed his eyes, trying to will away the exhaustion, and then followed Uhura out of the room. He’d change the roster to give Spock the next twenty-four hours off-duty. Not that he didn’t think Spock deserved more. He would have happily gone to the nearest space station to let Spock take a short shore leave. But he knew Spock would probably argue with him when he saw the roster—and he’d outright refuse anything more than twenty-four hours. 

Sulu stood as soon as Jim returned to the bridge. If he had any comments about how poor the Captain was looking, he kept it to himself. At that moment, Sulu became Jim’s favorite person on the Enterprise. 

#

Amanda regarded him with surprise. “I’ve been in a coma for three years?” 

“Yes.” The lie made him uncomfortable, but it was the only logical alternative to the truth. He agreed with Captain Kirk that it would be foolish to reveal to Amanda that she had been dead. Vulcans weren’t incapable of lying. But they were forbidden from it. “You were injured during the destruction of Vulcan…” 

“The destruction of Vulcan?” She put her hand up to her mouth in a gesture Spock recognized as horror. “What do you mean?” 

“Vulcan was destroyed by a Romulan who called himself Nero.” 

“But, Spock, why?” 

“He was very…troubled.” 

“Did anybody survive?” 

“Yes. Ten thousand escaped from the planet before it imploded.” 

“Ten thousand? But Spock, there were billions…” 

“Yes.” 

“What about Sarek?” Spock heard the hesitation in her voice. As though she was genuinely afraid of his answer. 

“He is well. He is currently assisting the colonization efforts on New Vulcan.” 

“Will I be able to see him soon?” 

Spock nodded. “Yes. I will contact him and ask him to join us on the ship.” 

Amanda reached out to touch his cheek lightly, but then pulled away. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like that.” 

“It does not bother me,” Spock said mildly, though that wasn’t what he wanted to say at all. “I have lived so closely with humans that I have become accustomed to their random gestures of physical contact.” 

“Yes, I suppose a number of things have changed in the past three years. It will take some time to readjust.” 

“Yes, it will,” Spock agreed, and this time, he was the one who couldn’t resist reaching out to her. The more time he spent with her, the more his skepticism melted. He didn’t want to discuss all of the time they spent apart. 

She reached up and touched his hand, but didn’t push him away. “Spock?” 

“I never thought I would see you again. I never thought I would see you smile or hear the sound of your voice. Never.” 

“I’m so sorry, Spock. I’m sorry you had to go through that. But it’s over now. Everything can be the same as it was before.” 

Spock didn’t believe that was possible. Of course, things could not be as they were before. The Universe had continued to age for three years without her, and the changes, both large and small, that had been wrought in her absence could never be undone. 

“Would you feel better if we melded?” Amanda asked gently. 

“Mother, we haven’t done that since…” 

“Since you were a child, I know. But I think it would be beneficial. For both of us.” 

“Do you feel strong enough?” 

Amanda smiled. “I feel perfectly fine. In fact, I haven’t felt this well since I was your age. I promise you, melding will not cause me any harm.” 

Spock knew he could keep his thoughts shielded from her. He also knew that she had the self-control necessary to avoid wandering into areas he wanted to keep private. “If you are certain.” 

“I am.” Amanda took his wrist and gently repositioned his hand, guiding his fingers to the proper pressure points. “Besides, I’ve missed out on so much in the past three years. It’ll be much easier to catch up this way.” 

Spock could not deny the logic of that. He pressed gently against her face and closed his eyes. At first, there was resistance, though Spock didn’t know if that came from her or from him. She could very well be different now, despite the superficial similarities. Or perhaps he was simply unprepared to meld with a person who had been deceased. Either way, it lasted for bare seconds before the shields lifted and he was welcomed into the haven of her mind. 

Peace and comfort filled him. He recognized it the way he had immediately recognized the scent of her hair. He was a child again, sitting at his computer while Amanda monitored his progress. He was sitting at a table, inspecting the rocks he had gathered on one of his daily walks, and she was reading to him from a book about Vulcan geology. He was sitting sullenly at the window, refusing to speak, refusing to cry, while she patiently washed the blood from his nose. _Ignore them Spock. Ignore them._ Each moment that had meant so much to him was at the front of her mind, as vivid as though they had happened the day before. And he realized that if he wanted to take the time, he would find a memory for every hour of his life. None of them would be hidden away or inaccessible. She had marked and cherished every moment. Was that love? It must have been. 

As soon as the thought struck him, he realized that he was not completely invulnerable. If he could sense the surface of her mind so easily, then surely, she would know his as well. He wasn’t worried about her accidentally learning of her own demise—but he was concerned about the thoughts, the experiences, the memories he hadn’t bothered to tuck away. 

Spock gently broke from the meld, careful not to severe the connection too abruptly. When he opened his eyes, Amanda was staring at him, her dark eyes glistening with tears. Whether they were tears of sorrow or something else, Spock could not say. 

“I am sorry, Mother. I made you cry.” 

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, Spock. I just had no idea…how much you missed me.” 

“You were gone for a very long time.” 

“Is Captain Kirk somehow responsible for my return?” 

“Why do you ask that?” 

“Well, he is the one who was there when I woke up. He brought me back to the ship. And I saw him just now. You were thinking about him.” 

“He is responsible, in a way,” Spock said. “And I am often worried about his health and safety, as he is my commanding officer.” 

“Is that all he is?” Amanda asked. 

“Yes.” A lie that was technically the truth. This one was not so hard to tell. “What else would he be?” 

Her lips thinned, but then she shook her head. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

“Would you like a chance to rest now?” 

“No, I told you. I feel great. I would, however, love a tour of your ship.” 

“The Enterprise is not my ship, mother.” 

“Can I have a tour anyway?” 

“Of course.” He stood and offered a hand to help her up. She accepted it with a bemused smile, and he assisted her to her feet. “Where would you like to start?” 

“The bridge. I’ve always wanted to see the bridge of a starship.” 

“Then that is where we will begin.” 

#  
Sarek’s responsibilities as Ambassador to Earth had given him many opportunities to meet and interact with humans. Almost without exception they were ignorant and crude. Foolhardy, emotional, and stubborn. They doomed themselves every single day in new and unexpected ways, and they never realized it. They lacked foresight, and over the years, Sarek became convinced that it was an ability they would always lack, as a race. They were close-minded and judgmental. They were frightened by what they could not understand, and there were so many things they simply refused to comprehend. As a group, they were trying at the best of times. At the worst times, they struck him as nothing more than savages. 

But they were capable of surprising him in ways Vulcans were not. They were fiercely loyal to the beings they loved. They were courageous, willing to explore the stars when so many other peoples were content to watch the heavens from their homes. The very best of the human specimens were curious, bright, eager to learn, and willing to adapt. He had known men and women of great integrity and wisdom. And it had been almost pleasurable to meet and make their acquaintances. Other Vulcans could not understand why he had been so willing to accept and keep his assignment to Earth. But it was that decision that gave him the reputation of being slightly different—a most damning description. But strangely, one that insulated and protected him after he met and married Amanda Grayson. 

Amanda had been the best person he ever met. She wasn’t perfect. He acknowledged that and he never burdened her with the label of perfection. She was ever-changing. She was constantly improving. Each time he thought he fully knew her, fully grasped her mystery, she caught him by surprise. It fascinated him. She fascinated him. He had told Spock that he loved Amanda, and in that painful, horrible moment, he realized the mistake he made by never uttering the words before then. 

Despite the fact that she had been gone for three years, Sarek never stopped thinking of her. She was first in his thoughts when he woke in the morning, and he always bid her a silent goodnight before falling asleep. Even when he meditated, when his mind should have been clear, she was the edges of his consciousness. As was the hole she left inside of him. He had always known that he would outlive his bride. But he had not been prepared to lose her, and the bond between them, so soon. Not when she had so much life still left to live. 

It was illogical to dwell over her after three years. It was illogical to suffer the pain of her loss on a daily basis. But then, her death had been illogical as well. Premature, without reason. Like so many Vulcans. He knew that all of the survivors of the catastrophe experienced a similar sense of frustration and guilt and pain and confusion. They were well trained and suppressing those bleak emotions and sublimating them into more logical efforts. Sarek was grateful for that. Otherwise, their race might not have survived at all. 

And in a single beat of his heart, a single crystallized second, everything changed. He felt something shift inside of him, and he saw it in everything around him. The sky brightened. He felt lighter. He felt weaker. He felt stronger. He almost fell, but managed to catch himself against the wall, and even that felt different. Cooler, with a sharper texture. In that second, the Universe made sense again and the horrible burden of his grief finally lifted. 

Sarek didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. But he sensed her. There was sound where there had once been silence, and light where there had once been darkness. Amanda had come back. And he would find her if he had to travel beyond the galaxy to do it.


	3. Chapter 3

“Coordinates laid in, Captain. We are traveling at warp factor two. We are scheduled to reach our destination in two point seven days,” Sulu announced. 

“Very good. What’s the time?” 

“Seventeen fifty-five, sir.” 

Five minutes until the ship wide message went out. Five minutes until the questions began. That was Jim’s cue to get the hell off the bridge. “Sulu, you have the conn until Beta shift starts. If there’s an emergency, contact me. Spock is off the duty roster for the next twenty-four hours.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Jim stood, pleased that he had made it so close to eighteen hours without an incident. As soon as he straightened, he heard the lift doors open behind him and he didn’t have to turn to see who had stepped onto the bridge. The complete and utter silence of the entire crew confirmed his suspicions. 

Sulu spoke first. “Captain?” 

“If you will excuse us, Captain, but my mother asked for a tour of the ship and expressed a desire to start with the bridge. I thought, given the circumstances, it would not be inappropriate to honor her request.” 

 

He didn’t know why Spock brought Amanda to the bridge. But he wasn’t going to reprimand Spock. It was his own fault for not warning his first mate about the message. And it wasn’t as though he could keep her hidden away from curious eyes indefinitely. Sooner or later, Spock was going to have to face the stares and the brave questions. Jim had just hoped it would be later. After they all had a chance to adjust. 

“It’s not inappropriate at all, Spock. Ms. Grayson.” Jim smiled. “Welcome to the bridge of the USS Enterprise.” 

“Please call me Amanda, Captain.” 

“Captain, are you feeling well?” Spock inquired. “Your color is not appropriate for a person your age and health.” 

“I’m fine, Spock. But I was about to go off-duty for the day. If you’d like, I’d be happy to join your tour.” 

Spock opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Uhura jumped to her feet. “Ms. Grayson, I’d be honored to show you around the bridge.” 

“Of course. You are Nyota Uhura, correct?” 

Uhura smiled, clearly pleased. “Yes.” 

“Spock mentioned you to me. It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

“Oh. It’s nice to meet you as well.” 

Jim stopped himself from wincing at the reminder of Spock and Uhura’s former relationship. Of course, neither had confided in him when they broke up. But he suspected that Uhura had been the one to end it. He also suspected that when Spock cared for a person, those emotions simply didn’t disappear. It was not something that he liked to think about. He waited until Uhura led Amanda from the lift doors before stepping away from his chair. 

“Captain, may I have a word with you?” Spock asked. 

Jim nodded and gestured for Spock to follow him to the lift. The doors shut but neither of them spoke. Jim couldn’t think of anything to say. He was too busy staring at Spock, who looked genuinely happy. He wasn’t smiling, of course. Jim didn’t know if he’d live to see the day when Spock smiled, but he still saw the happiness in Spock’s eyes. Jim’s heart twisted, and any regrets or doubts he might have had instantly fell away. He would make the decision again a hundred times if it was necessary.

“Thank you,” Spock finally said. “I did not express my gratitude earlier.” 

“You’re welcome, Spock.”

“I could not, as a human would say, believe my eyes.”

“But you believe it now?” 

“I have received irrefutable proof.” 

“Good. Good. I’ve given you the next twenty-four hours off. I figured you and your mother would have a lot of catching up to do.” 

“Yes. She has indicated that she would like to contact Sarek. With your permission, I would like to invite him onboard.” 

“Of course. They’re both welcome on the Enterprise any time they like, for as long as they like.” 

“That’s very generous.” 

Jim shook his head. “No, it’s not.” 

“Are you sure you’re well? Is there anything I can do for you?” 

The sincerity behind Spock’s question almost stole his breath. He carefully schooled his features to make sure they didn’t give away just how deeply Spock’s question touched him. Over the previous three years, he had become very good at hiding his feelings. He could probably rival a Vulcan when it came to that ability. 

“I’m sure.” 

“Captain, may I ask a question?” 

“Yes.” 

Spock halted the lift. “Why did you choose my mother? If you could select any person, why would you select a woman you never met?” 

“That seems to be everybody’s favorite question.” 

“I think it is a fair question. Most people in your position would select somebody significant to them.” 

“Somebody like my father?” Jim asked. 

“That would seem the more obvious choice.” 

“Well, it wasn’t so obvious to me.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it made more sense to select Amanda. That’s all.” 

“Forgive me, Captain, but I do not understand. How does that make more sense?” 

“Because…she’s significant to you, Spock. She’s the one person you would have brought back.”

“But that’s not…” 

“Logical?” Jim started the lift again, his limbs heavy. He had thought the ongoing struggle with the Pandorians and the Klingons had sapped his strength, but now he understood the true source of his exhaustion. Spock wore him out. “Trust me, it makes perfect sense.” 

“I owe…” 

“No.” Jim cut the sentence off as quickly as he could. “You don’t owe me, Spock. You don’t owe me anything. It’s a gift. There’s no…debt when somebody gives you a gift.” 

“I wish to show you the depth of my gratitude, Captain.”

The lift doors opened to deck four. “I already know. But if you truly want to show me…then do me a favor. You’ve been given a second chance. Nobody ever gets a second chance. Don’t waste it.” 

“I will endeavor to take full advantage of it,” Spock said solemnly. 

“That’s all I ask. If anybody needs me, you know where to find me.” 

Spock nodded, and Jim escaped before anything else could be said. Typically, he welcomed any opportunity to be near Spock, but not right now. Now he just needed to be alone. He ached for privacy. For a break from the intrusive questions and the demands for an explanation that he simply couldn’t give. 

#

Amanda slept. Spock watched for a full hour, simply fascinated by her existence. A miracle. That was the word that kept circling Spock’s mind. There was no Vulcan equivalent to the word, as the very concept itself was illogical. Why would any Vulcan ever wish to classify something as an extraordinary event manifesting the Divine’s intervention? Nothing qualified as a _miracle_ on Vulcan. Spock had no doubt that nothing qualified as a miracle on New Vulcan, either. And yet, Amanda existed. Amanda breathed and slept and smiled. 

It took an hour before he felt it was safe to leave her alone. With a final, lingering look, he slipped out of the room. Kirk’s quarters were on the same deck. If he announced himself, he had no doubt the Captain would allow him to enter. But Kirk had been pale with dark shadows under his eyes, and Spock hesitated to interrupt his must-needed rest. 

Rather than turning left, he went right, back to the lift. The lift took him to deck six, where he stood outside a familiar door. When Uhura answered his summon, she didn’t seem surprised to see him. “Come in.” 

“Thank you.” 

“How is Amanda?” 

“She is resting. Did I interrupt anything?” 

“No, I was just reading over some transmissions. How are you doing?” 

“I am exceedingly well.” 

“Jim was worried that you might be…overwhelmed by the experience. With good reason, I suppose. I think any one of us would be overwhelmed in your shoes. Not to mention very confused.” 

Spock tilted his head. “Jim was worried about me?” 

“Yes.” 

“If he was concerned for my well-being, why did he speak to you and not to me about it?”

Uhura sat at her desk and gestured for him to sit as well. “I think he wanted to let me know what was going on in case you needed…personal support. He doesn’t think you consider him a friend.”

“But I do.” 

“He doesn’t know that, Spock.”

“Perhaps I should tell him.” 

“It can’t hurt.” 

Spock lapsed into a thoughtful silence, and Uhura turned back to her computer. He appreciated the information she gave him, but it wasn’t quite the clue necessary to untangle Jim’s motivation. 

“I suppose it could not.” 

“So…you used to tell your mother about me?” 

Spock had anticipated her curiosity and so had a response prepared. “My mother had always been concerned that I was too…isolated. When I sought to reassure her that I was not lonely, I offered your name.” 

“I don’t see why that necessarily means she’d still remember it.” 

“Perhaps it is because I never provided any other names.” He bowed slightly. “Thank you for your assistance, Lieutenant.” 

“Have a good night, Spock.” 

Spock stepped out of her room unsure if he was any closer to an understanding. Meditation would be helpful. One point six hours should be sufficient to restore his energy levels, which would, in turn, help restore his mental capacity. He was feeling…drained. If he had thought to ask Uhura, she might have told him that a physical reaction to an emotionally significant event wasn’t uncommon. But he hadn’t considered raising the topic, and so he had no idea on what culprit to blame on. It also didn’t occur to him that Captain Kirk might have been suffering from the same affliction. 

#

There was one moment when Jim could have changed his mind and taken a different path. 

Spock had been listening a recording of music in his quarters, but he hadn’t locked the door. Jim had barreled in like he owned the place, too distracted by a report from the science colony on Alpha Gemini to remember his manners. He froze in mid-stride, PADD in-hand, a question on his tongue. Spock had his eyes closed, and the music swirled around them, an aural representation of some mathematical formula. Jim had recognized the sounds of the Vulcan lyre, and he remembered hearing that Spock had some experience with the instrument. Whatever his proficiency as a player, there was no doubt of his affinity for the music as a member of the audience.

Because Spock had been smiling. 

His solemn, reserved first officer, who fought all the harder for his Vulcan ancestry once his mother was gone, was smiling. Jim had never seen anything like it in his life. It wasn’t an easy smile. Spock didn’t have a look of true joy or contentment. He definitely wasn’t grinning. He had looked deeply satisfied. Like something had clicked home in the music, some great problem had been solved, and he could rest knowing that had been completed. What had given him that satisfaction? Jim couldn’t even guess. But he would have loved to know. Because whatever pleased Spock so thoroughly would have pleased him as well. Because he wanted to be responsible for a similar smile one day. 

That had been the instant when Jim could have saved his heart from physical torment of loving a Vulcan. He could have chosen to save himself for somebody warm, somebody who wanted to have a family, somebody who could have loved him back. He’d had the opportunity to save himself from disappointment and frustration. But it all happened so fast, and everything that he respected about Spock suddenly turned to everything he _loved_ about Spock. All because of a smile that he should have never seen. Jim sometimes thought back to that day and wondered what would have happened to him if Spock had remembered to lock the door. Would he be able to sleep the night through? 

Jim had so many problems he didn’t need to add Spock to the list. And yet, there Spock was, right in the middle of the litany of issues that demanded his attention. Rosters to be reviewed, reports to be filed, correspondence to respond to, disciplinary issues that needed to be resolved—and that didn’t even touch the diplomatic missions, the Starfleet errands, and the exploratory assignments. Jim had to juggle everything that had been completed, everything that still needed to be attended to, every routine, and every spontaneous event. No matter how much he delegated, it was all his responsibility in the end. And Spock stood in the middle of it all, the center of Jim’s world. A calm force that kept everything in order and threw everything out of whack. He kept the Enterprise running smoothly even though he directly contributed to more than one of her captain’s sleepless nights. 

But for once, Jim wasn’t tormenting himself with memories of missed chances and frustrated communication. In the solitude of his quarters and the comfort of his bed, he allowed himself to analyze the events of day. His memory wasn’t as sharp as Spock’s, unless he was actually thinking of Spock, in which case, he never forgot a detail. And he was certain that in the second between seeing Amanda and processing what was happening, Spock had smiled. Not the small, pleased smile Jim had spent so many times analyzing—and God he knew that was pathetic. It was a smile of genuine happiness. It was almost a grin. It was almost the response of a child. The smile didn’t belong to Jim, but he was responsible for it all the same. 

And that was all he needed. 

As soon as he recognized, the bone crushing exhaustion simply evaporated. The memory of that smile refreshed and nourished him more than any amount of sleep or food could. But there was more to it than a smile. Because now every extra day Spock had with his mother would be a day he cherished. 

Jim already had more regrets than twenty-eight years should harbor, but loving Spock wasn’t one of those. No matter how their time together ended—and it could very well end in just two years—it’d be worth it. 

Even so, he was human, and sometimes he was a masochist. He fantasized about how Spock might react to an emotional confession. Sometimes, Spock was distantly polite. Sometimes, Spock was simply dismissive. But sometimes…sometimes Spock was receptive to Jim’s declaration. That was always the most difficult to imagine. He had no idea of what a Vulcan in love might look like. If it existed, Kirk wasn’t sure it would look like the human concept of love. Biologically, Spock was half-human, but culturally, he was completely Vulcan. Jim knew there were plenty of cultures where the word for love did not exist. Without the word, there could not be a concept. Without the concept, there was no corresponding emotion. 

Love was always a complicated, treacherous game. At least when Jim had tried to play it before he was dealing with a mostly fair playing field. But when it came to Spock, Jim needed to ascertain that Spock was even capable of that emotion. Only then, could he try to understand what love might consist of for the Vulcan. But even if Spock fully understood the concept—and was fully capable of expressing love—there was absolutely no indication anywhere that Spock might consider loving him. 

And so he was left collecting smiles that were never meant for him. In three years, he had two. At the end of the five-year mission, he might have one more. Though it literally took raising the dead to earn the second one, and Jim didn’t think he had another trick like that up his sleeve. What was left after that? He’d have to actually obtain omnipotent power to find the answer to that question. 

Still, it wasn’t bad. Not in the least. He had the Enterprise, the best first officer a captain could ask for, and a crew who always made him proud. He was already fortunate beyond his greatest expectations. And no matter the mistakes he made in his life, he would always have the comfort of knowing he had done a few things right. 

That thought chased him into sleep. He dreamed, but no particular image stuck in his mind. When he woke up feeling happy and oddly agitated, he knew that he had been dreaming about Spock. A quick glance at the chronometer revealed he had two hours before he needed to report to the bridge. His computer blinked to inform him he had messages. No surprise there. He always had messages. 

Spock had thanked him. 

The thought struck him without warning, but it reverberated through him, warming him. Jim supposed that was one advantage of loving Spock. The smallest things had the ability to make him happy for the rest of the day.


	4. Chapter 4

“Captain Kirk!” 

The words stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to see Amanda hurrying towards him. It had been seven days since her return, and he was already becoming accustomed to her presence. He knew that she’d have to leave soon, but a part of him didn’t want her to go. He liked when their paths crossed. He enjoyed watching the interaction between her and Spock. Recently, he learned that while Spock was on duty, Amanda occupied her time by visiting sickbay and spending time with the patients there. McCoy had informed him of this, and Jim had half-expected the information to be followed by a complaint about strangers invading his area, but he didn’t have a single negative word about her. Nobody did. 

“Ms. Grayson. How are you doing today?” 

She caught up with him and gently hit his arm. “You know better than that.” 

Jim smiled. “Excuse me. How are you doing today, Amanda?” 

“Very well, thank you. And yourself?” 

“Pretty good.” 

“I was hoping to talk to you but not if I’m keeping you from anything.” 

Jim shook his head. “I was just on the way to the mess to get some lunch.” He offered his arm. “Care to join me?” 

“Thank you.” She took his arm and smiled, but Jim could tell that it was a little bit forced. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

“Was I dead?” 

“What…why…what do you mean?” 

“I apologize. Living on Vulcan for so long taught me to be very…blunt. Vulcans have a difficult time with indirect communication.” 

“So I’ve noticed. But…why…I mean…why would you ask something like that?” 

Amanda didn’t answer immediately, but she did slow her pace. Nobody else was in the corridor, and Jim hoped their luck held out. He didn’t want to be interrupted in the middle of this conversation. 

“At first, I wasn’t sure, but I suspected that something might be off. Especially since I was quite sure that Spock was lying to me.” 

“You were? How did you know?” 

She smiled wryly. “Because I’m his mother, Jim. You’ll understand if you ever kids. But it wasn’t just that. Spock has been very…expressive. Uncommonly so. He told me that he never believed he would see me again. And of course, it doesn’t make any sense for me to be in treatment so far away from my husband. Had I been in a coma, I’m quite certain that Sarek would have kept me on New Vulcan. Plus, everybody keeps giving me these funny looks.” 

“I…well, I guess I should have realized you would figure it out sooner or later. When Spock beamed down to Vulcan to rescue you and Sarek, there was an accident. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but you were not beamed on board.” 

“How were you able to bring me back?” 

“A wish. I don’t understand how it works, and I probably never will. But I had the opportunity to bring somebody back.” 

Amanda stopped and turned to face him. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and for the first time, Jim understood why Spock’s eyes were so expressive. His Vulcan heritage might have been the reason they were so dark, but his mother was the reason Jim could see right through him. But that went both ways, and Jim felt like his very soul was under her scrutiny. 

“You picked me. How do you thank a person for something like that?” 

Jim shook his head. “You don’t have to. I did it for…” 

“Spock.” The corners of her eyes crinkled with a small smile. “Is there anything that you wouldn’t do for my son, Captain Kirk?” 

He could have lied, but she would have known. He didn’t know how or why, but she would have known. If he had met her before the destruction of Vulcan, he was quite confident he would have made the same decision to bring her back. In fact, he would have made it sooner. But he hadn’t known her, and she was completely right about his motivations. 

“No, there’s not.” 

“Does he know that?” 

“No, he doesn’t.” 

Jim braced himself for the inevitable follow-up question, but it didn’t come. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you, Jim. Somebody who cares so much for him.” 

“It’s no less than what he deserves.” 

They began walking again, and Jim realized that Amanda knew. Was he so obvious? Did the entire ship know the secret he had been struggling so hard to keep? Perhaps they hadn’t known before he brought Amanda on board. Perhaps that decision had confirmed what had only been suspicions before. Or perhaps he worried too much over nothing. It wasn’t as though he was ashamed of his feelings for Spock. 

“My husband will be arriving this evening.” 

“Yes, I’ve been in contact with his shuttle. It’s been a long wait.” 

“For him. It only feels like a week has passed since I’ve last seen him.” 

“He’ll probably drag you off to your quarters as soon as possible.” As soon as he said the words, Jim felt like a cad. “I’m sorry. That was…very inappropriate.” 

Amanda laughed lightly. “No offense was taken. Besides, you’re not wrong.” 

“You mean, Vulcans…do that?” 

“In their way. Vulcans enjoy intimacy the same way we do, Jim. They just express it in different ways.” 

“What sort of ways? If I’m not prying too much.” 

“They don’t receive as much…satisfaction from purely physical expression. They require a great deal of mental stimulation as well. When Sarek was courting me, he insisted on playing chess. He arranged to meet me every single night for a month so we could play. I really didn’t understand. I thought we were just friends. One night I canceled our plans so I could go out with another young man. Sarek actually forbade me from going on my date. It seems that Vulcans do not tolerate competition.” 

“Wait…Sarak tried to woo you by playing chess every night for a month?” 

“Yes.” Her eyes gleamed. “I think that might have been the Vulcan equivalent of first base.” 

“He’s not going to want to play chess with you tonight, is he?” 

Amanda laughed again. “No. Once we were bonded, we found other ways to mentally stimulate each other.”

“Bonded?” 

“Vulcans share a telepathic bond with their spouses. The bond is formed as part of the ceremony. Sarek told me that as soon as I woke, he felt me again.” 

“Can you feel him?” 

“No. But I’m not telepathic. I’ll require physical contact to reform the bond.” 

“Sometimes I feel like there are so many things about Vulcans I don’t understand. Well, I guess to be honest, I don’t really understand anything about Vulcans. Spock is a puzzle.” 

“No, Spock is easy to understand. And I think you might know that better than anybody.” 

Jim snorted. “No, I really don’t.”

“You should have a little bit more faith in yourself. And in him.” 

Jim didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t have the chance to ask her. The object of their conversation chose that moment to walk around the corner. His face was the same impassive mask as always, and like always, Jim longed to know what was going on behind those dark eyes. He wished he could just ask. Just walk up to him and say, “Hey, Spock, what’s on your mind?” 

“Mother, I have been searching for you.” 

“What is it, Spock?” 

“Uhura has received another transmission for you from Sarek. It is marked urgent. I had it forwarded to your room.” 

“Thank you, Spock.” She stepped away from Jim with a smile in her eyes. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation, Captain.” 

“I have as well.” 

Jim expected Spock to follow his mother, but he only nodded at her as she passed by. “What were you two talking about?” 

“Private matters. But…she sort of figured out that she hasn’t been in a coma for the past three years.” 

“I expected she would. I offered what I thought was plausible story, but there must have been incongruous elements.” 

“No, there weren’t any holes in your story. She’s just really smart. Like her son.” 

Spock didn’t pause to acknowledge the compliment. He rarely did. “Sarek’s shuttle will be docking at fifteen hundred hours. Will you be meeting the boarding party?” 

“Will it offend your father if I don’t?” 

“I believe, given the purpose of his visit, that he will not notice your absence.” 

“I have a meeting with Scotty and the rest of the engineering crew at the same time. I could reschedule it, though.” 

“That isn’t necessary. But I do not recall seeing a meeting with Lieutenant Scott on your schedule.” 

Of course he didn’t. Because he was the person who gave the final approval of Jim’s schedule, and Jim had just made up that meeting. “It’s a last minute thing.” 

“I see, Captain.” 

“Spock…do you want to play chess tonight? We haven’t really had a chance in the past week and I’m getting rusty.” 

“I do not know what you mean by getting rusty, but I think a game of chess tonight would be agreeable.” 

“Good. My quarters at eighteen hundred hours?” 

“I’m looking forward to it, Captain.” 

“Me, too. I’m going to get a bite to eat. Would you…?” 

“I do not require nourishment at this time. I was on my way back to the bridge.” 

It only occurred to him after he had parted ways with Spock that he had asked his first mate on a date. And his first mate had accepted. But maybe he was reading too much into it? After all, they played chess on a regular basis. Just because Sarek had courted Amanda this way didn’t mean he had been dating Spock for over a year. Right? 

#

Spock’s abdomen hurt, though there was nothing physically wrong with him, and his heart seemed to be beating too quickly. He felt it thundering under his skin in a most unpleasant way. Meditation might have soothed the pain, but he did not have the time to retire to his quarters and meditate. Despite his Vulcan physiology, he was still capable of experiencing what his mother had called _nerves_. As near as Spock could tell, _nerves_ was just an umbrella term for excitement, anxiety, hope, and fear, all mixed together into a ridiculous, annoying conglomeration. 

He buzzed Jim’s intercom at precisely eighteen hundred hours. He had busied himself in his own quarters with personal and medical leave requests until the much anticipated hour arrived. When Sarek’s shuttled had docked, Spock had been there to meet him, but he had been distracted. Fortunately, Sarek had been less interested in his son than the miraculous vision of his wife. Spock’s presence had not been needed for long, and he had been allowed to escape and busy himself with his various duties. Spock had not been offended by Sarek’s single-mindedness. Neither Spock nor Amanda had spoken of it, but they both recognized that Sarek must have been in terrible pain. It had been a full seven days since he first sensed Amanda, but their bond had been stunted and unable to function properly. The first priority was to repair that connection.

While they saw to that, Spock knew he needed to deal with his own private matters. Jim’s suggestion of a game of chess had been welcomed with a flood of pure relief—it provided the opening Spock needed. Jim already had the chess board set up when Spock arrived, and he was sitting at the desk, studying it raptly. 

“I think it’s only fair to warn you, Spock. I don’t intend to lose tonight.” 

“I was not aware that you had any other mindset.” 

Jim glanced up with a grin. “How are your parents?” 

“They are well. Sarek wishes me to extend his gratitude. He hopes to speak with you tomorrow.” 

“I’m happy to talk to him whenever he can tear himself away from Amanda.” Jim gestured at the chair. “Have a seat. You make me nervous when you hover.” 

“My apologies, Captain.” Spock settled in the chair directly across from Jim. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I didn’t mean anything by it. White or black?” 

“Black.”

Jim nodded and took his move. “Will they be staying on the ship for long?” 

“Sarek has responsibilities he must return to on New Vulcan.” 

“So they’re leaving soon, huh?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you going to request leave?” 

Spock looked up from the board. “No, Captain. Why would I do that?” 

Jim shrugged. “I just thought you would want to spend more time with Amanda.” 

“I am very grateful for the liberties you allowed me to take in the past seven days, but I have no intention of returning to New Vulcan with them. My place is on the Enterprise. That hasn’t changed.” 

“To be honest, that’s a relief. I’m not sure what the ship would do without you.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“I believe you.” Spock made his decision, but hesitated for several beats before finally making his move. “Captain, were you aware of the ancient Vulcan tradition of _fal-tor-pan_?” 

“No, I’ve never heard of it.” 

“It is a ritual to restore the _katra_ with the physical body. To bring the dead back to life.” 

“Wait...Vulcans can resurrect the dead?” 

Spock shook his head. “It is not a ritual that has been attempted in thousands of years. But Vulcans believe every living being as a _katra_. It is similar to the human conception of the soul, but it also encompasses the entirety of a being’s experiences and wisdom. Archaeologists have discovered small boxes that served as _katra_ arks for the ancient, war-like Vulcans. The concept of the _katra_ is one of the few beliefs that have survived antiquity and is still widespread today.” 

“So what you are telling me is that I had no reason to worry about your emotional response to Amanda’s sudden appearance?” 

“No. Despite the belief in the _katra_ and the knowledge of the _fal-tor-pan_ , there has been only one case in recorded history when the ritual has worked. And even that is extremely suspect among scholars. It is widely discredited among the scientific community, though it has a special significance to mystics.” 

Jim tilted his head, and Spock could tell by the way his eyes narrowed that he was interested in the story. “Why?” 

“There are no credible eye-witness accounts of the event. But the story is well-known. Would you like me to continue?” 

“Please.” 

Spock knew the story well, but he still hesitated before beginning. As far as he knew, no other off-worlder had ever heard the sacred legend. Many Vulcans were not even aware of it. Their lives were devoted to science, reason, and logic. But the House of Surak had, paradoxically, kept those traditions alive, handing them down from generation to generation. Sarek had felt it necessary for Spock’s education to be balanced with the ancient knowledge. It was not dissimilar to the Terrans who continued to study and even observe the practices of their own ancient religions. Spock had developed a special fascination with Vulcan mysticism and had continued investigating to satisfy his own curiosity long after his mandated education had ceased. Somewhere along the way, his academic curiosity evolved into a deeper conviction. Now the mystery, the practices, the beliefs that reached back beyond time held a deep significance for him. 

“S’Jenes was a warrior from the city of ShiKahr. He was the city’s champion and the most feared person throughout the region. His reputation was fierce, and he does exist as a historical figure. It is known that he fought in seventeen battles over twenty years, until his death at the age of thirty-seven. The city mourned for seven days and seven nights. During that time, there was no work done and the entire army laid down its arms and took a vow of peace. But on the third day, his friend Stoss stole the body.” 

“Even I know that’s not very good manners,” Jim said. 

“The city elders would have agreed with you. They immediately called for the arrest and execution of Stoss.” 

“Execution?” 

“The act of stealing the body desecrated it.” 

“And that was an offense punishable by death?” 

“When the body in question is as widely love and celebrated as S’Jenes.” 

“But Stoss hadn’t intended any disrespect, right?” 

Spock inclined his head. “Correct. He claimed he had been entrusted with S’Jenes’s _katra_ , and it was his sacred duty to perform the _fal-tor-pan_. He swore a blood oath, and so he absconded with the body and set off to the L-langon Mountains. Unfortunately, his loyalty and love for S’Jenes could not overcome basic biological facts.” 

Jim’s lips quirked. “Is that you’re way of saying the body began to rot?” 

“Indeed. It is, at minimum, a ten day journey on foot to the L-langon Mountains. Why he chose that particular location was never clear. Perhaps that was the only place he would have the safety and privacy necessary for the ritual. He met a priestess there, Serranstivlen, who had previously agreed to perform the ritual, though it could very well lead to her execution as well. But when he arrived, she refused.” 

“Yeah, I can’t imagine anybody would want to be responsible for bringing a rotting body back to life.” 

“But Stoss refused to break his oath to his friend. He drove a _senepa_ through his chest.” 

“I’m assuming that’s a knife?” 

“Yes, with a poison tip. Serranstivlen performed the ritual as his blood ran out, passing the _katra_ from the ark and to Stoss. She bandaged the body, and when he woke, it was S’Jenes, not Stoss.” 

“That’s…quite the story, Spock. Kind of a downer, though.” 

“A downer, Captain?” 

Jim shrugged. “It’s depressing. Tragic. It doesn’t make you feel good.” 

“It is not supposed to make you feel anything.” 

“Okay, what is it supposed to do?” 

“It is meant to be instructional. Like the parables earth children are told to teach them proper behavior.” 

Both had lost interest in the chess game, and Jim pushed the board aside so it no longer obstructed the view between them. “What is the lesson supposed to be?” 

“Stoss was S’Jenes’s t’hy’la. As his t’hy’la, he made the only decision he could when he took his own life. If the roles had been reversed, S’Jenes would have done the same thing. Stoss was prepared and willing to sacrifice anything for his t’hy’la. As a result, it is less important as an example of the _fal-tor-pan_ , and more important as a story of devotion, sacrifice, and…” Spock fished around until he found the only word that was close enough to the right meaning. “:ove.” 

“What was the word you used before?” 

Spock swallowed. “T’hy’la.” 

“What does it mean?”

“Brother, friend, and lover. That is the easiest way to translate it into English. It is a very close relationship that does not have any other equivalent on Vulcan. It could mean spouse, but not necessarily. Often, the warriors who forged that bond had wives and families but it was…set apart from marriage. It encompassed a different set of rules and expectations. For example, the mental link could only be broken by death. And it can only be forged once. It was also highly respected and despite strict adultery laws of the ancient civilizations, the t’hy’la relationship always had a special exception.” 

“So, Stoss wouldn’t have found himself another t’hy’la?” 

“Correct.”

“Spock…why are you telling me all of this?” 

It was a fair question. The question he had been expecting. And he was confident in his answer, but he wasn’t as confident about Jim’s response. After all, Terrans had no concept of _t’hy’la_. He believed that their marital relationships were similar to it, but those bonds were broken so easily. How could a Terran, even one as intelligent and perceptive as James Kirk, ever grasp the implications of the bond? Or the depth of the communion possible between them? 

“As S’Jenes’s t’hy’la, Stoss had a special bond, a mental link, with him. According to the texts, this bond is formed out of immense sacrifice. Perhaps Stoss saved S’Jenes’s life at great risk to his own during a battle. Or perhaps S’Jenes refused to leave an injured Stoss to be destroyed by the enemy combatants. The actual moment of bonding is particularly intimate and personal to each person.” Spock met his captain’s inquisitive gaze, and this time, he did not set his face in an impassive mask. “Jim, I believe you are my t’hy’la.”


	5. Chapter 5

Spock’s announcement ricocheted through Jim, prompting every emotion from joy to bewilderment and even fear. Strange things happened to him all the time, but he couldn’t remember the last time anything left him _stunned_. But this was more than that. Shell-shocked might have been a better description. Had Spock just admitted he was in love with him? Or was something else happening? 

“Why?” He finally managed. “Why do you believe that?” 

“I have suspected for some time now that the bond has been forming between us. Your decision to bring back my mother has caused me to evaluate our relationship.” 

“So you’re saying that this is the big sacrifice that makes you my t’hy’la? But Spock…I’ve risked my life for you before. What’s the difference between this decision and all those other choices?” 

“You would risk your life for anybody on your crew. There are four hundred and thirty crewmembers on this ship, and every single one of them would fight for you because they know you would do the same for them. This is different.” Spock folded his hands in his laps. “Nobody would have accused you of being selfish if you had restored your father’s life.” 

Jim frowned. “I know that.” 

“Nobody would have expected you to make any other choice.” 

“Spock…” 

“But you did make a different choice. And I believe you did so specifically because you wished to please me.” 

There was no point in denying it. “Yes, that’s true.” 

“Jim, I honor your sacrifice and wish to complete our bond. If you do not desire that, I will understand, but you will also continue to be my t’hy’la.” 

Jim wasn’t quite sure, but this sounded like a marriage proposal to him. Or, at the very least, the beginning of a very serious commitment. Just an hour before, Jim would have been ecstatic at the thought of Spock returning his feelings. The problem was, he had no idea if Spock actually returned his feelings at all. A small part of him couldn’t shake the uncomfortable thought that Spock was only acting out of gratitude. 

“Do you love me?” 

“Jim?”

“Love. Do you love me? Are you in love with me?” 

“I do not know.” 

Jim sighed. “That’s usually not the answer people want to hear when they ask that question.” 

“I apologize, but I have no other answer.” 

“But…how can you not know?” 

“Because I do not know what it is like to experience that. When I was in a relationship with Nyota, it became very clear that she had certain cultural expectations of love and romance. She grew up in a culture where she constantly absorbed images, descriptions, and cues about romantic relationships. What was second-nature to her was very alien to me.” 

“Is that why you broke up?” Jim blurted. 

“I believe that was a contributing factor. When she told me she loved me, I could not return the sentiment. When I asked her to describe love to me, she could not. Vulcans do not marry for love. My father being a rare exception.” 

“You love your mother.” 

“Yes. But that is different from being in love, is it not?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I never really thought about it before,” Jim admitted. 

“I have been thinking about it a great deal. I do not have an answer, though. Nor can I say I’m any closer to understanding. But I do know that I would sacrifice everything I have and everything I am for your sake. I would give my life for yours even if you were not my captain. The sight of you inspires a sense of wonder and gratitude that I do not experience with anybody else.” 

Jim swallowed hard around the knot in his throat. It was growing larger by the second, sinking roots deep into his chest to wrap around his heart and lungs. “That sounds like love to me.” 

Spock inclined his amiably. “Then I am in love with you, Jim.” 

“Me, too. I mean…I feel the same way about you.” 

Spock smiled. It changed everything about his face, lightening his eyes and softening the corners of his mouth. Jim’s heart raced in response, and he realized the smiles he had cherished before were mere hints of what Spock was capable of. It only lasted for a few moments, but a few moments of that was all Jim needed. 

“You are willing to complete the bond?” Spock asked. 

“I am. But first, I need something from you.” 

“Anything.” The single word was so heavy with meaning that Jim knew he could literally make any request and Spock would do his best to comply. If he wanted the moon, Spock would find a way to make it happen. 

“Stand up.” 

Spock complied and Jim rose as well. He circled the desk and stood in front of Spock, toe to toe. Spock watched him without blinking, not moving at all as Jim reached up to touch the side of his face. He intended to ask for far more than a simple caress, but first he needed to satisfy the deep desire to simply test the texture and warmth of Spock’s skin. He wanted the privilege to touch Spock with impunity, though he knew his ability to do so might be limited. He didn’t want to paw at Spock and make him uncomfortable. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Touching you.” 

“I see.” 

“Does it bother you?” 

“Not at all.” Spock touched the corner of Jim’s mouth with his thumb. “May I kiss you?” 

“Spock, the answer to that question is always yes.” 

“Is that an example of your typical hyperbole?” 

“No, not at all. You don’t ever need to ask. The answer won’t change.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Spock was just a hair taller than him, and he hooked his finger under Jim’s chin to angle his mouth. Their eyes caught and held, and Jim’s stomach tightened. It had been a long, long time since anybody had kissed him. Partially due to lack of opportunity, and partially due to the fact that Jim never met anybody who could hold his attention. Romantic relationships had never been a priority, and they became even less of one after they gave him his ship. 

The kiss was chaste at first. Close-lipped and soft. Spock smelled wonderful, and his lips were smooth and soft. Something surged inside of him, like the ocean breaking over rocks. He parted his lips first, and Spock immediately took advantage of that, his tongue gently easing into Jim’s mouth. The prolonged contact made his legs feel weak, and he wrapped his arm around Spock’s waist, pulling him closer and holding himself up at the same time. 

The kiss went on and on, and Jim wasn’t really surprised. Spock was good at everything he did. Why wouldn’t that include kissing? Before long, Jim forgot there had ever been a time when they didn’t kiss. He forgot about his doubts, about the sleepless lines spent agonizing over Spock. He forgot about his fears and insecurities. But he didn’t forget about the word Spock had taught him. It echoed in his brain, its meaning and implications sinking through the levels of his consciousness. 

When they finally broke apart, Jim felt more than a little lightheaded. His throat was dry and his cock was hard, and standing that close to Spock was a wonderful sort of torture. “What do you need to do to complete the bond you mentioned?” 

“A mind meld. But we do not need to do that right now. We can wait until you’ve had a chance to think about it.” 

“I don’t need to think about it, Spock. Well, I don’t need to think about it more than I have been for the past three years.” 

“Three years?” 

“Almost three years.” 

“I was not aware, Jim.” 

“That means I was doing something right, I guess. I didn’t want you to know.” 

“Why not?” 

“I…it’s not important, Spock. I want you to do the meld.” 

“I can’t take it back once it is completed,” Spock warned. “We’ll always be connected. No matter what happens to us. If Starfleet sees fit to assign us to different ships, we will still be connected, even if we are on opposite sides of the galaxy. Should you wish to marry and start a family, the bond will still exist.” 

“I understand. You’re not trying to talk me out of it, are you?” 

“No. I only want to make sure you understand. The bond will even continue beyond death. If anything were to happen to me, you would feel that absence. Like a part of yourself is missing.” 

“Spock, if anything happened to you, I’d already feel that way. Besides…” Jim grinned. “I’ll just have to find a way to bring you back. Apparently, that’s possible.” 

“Very well. It might be more comfortable for you to sit.” 

“I’ll do you one better.” He took Spock’s hand and led him to the bed. He sat on the edge, and Spock gently pushed on his shoulder until he was lying flat on his back. Spock straddled his hips, and the pressure against his groin made him ache. He almost wanted to forget all about the mind meld and just tell Spock to take all his clothes off. Almost. 

Spock did surprise him by catching the hem of Jim’s shirt and pulling it over his head. He smoothed his hands over Jim’s bare skin, running his fingers up and down his torso. At first, the touch was so light it almost tickled. But as Spock continued, he increased the pressure incrementally until Jim felt like his skin was burning. He was flushed everywhere that Spock touched, and his heart hammered a hard tattoo against his ribs. He thought about asking Spock just what he was doing, but then realized he didn’t really care about the answer. 

Jim tried to watch, but eventually, his eyes were too heavy to keep open. It was almost as if Spock’s touch hypnotized him. He felt himself simultaneously drifting from his body and becoming more aware of Spock’s weight on his thighs. Then he felt Spock’s light fingers on either side of his neck, just below his ears. His forefingers flexed slightly, applying a trace amount of pressure. Jim’s entire body instantly went limp. 

“What are you doing to me?” He murmured thickly, each word coming at a great cost. 

“I am using certain pressure points to aid in your relaxation.” 

“If I were any more relaxed, I’d melt into the bed.” 

His middle fingers flexed next and pleasure sliced through him from his throat to his cock. It was instantaneous and overwhelming, hot and cold at the same time. It didn’t fade, either. Pleasure continued to thrum through his veins, in a low, steady ache, brightly flaring to life each time Spock adjusted the pressure. Jim’s balls pulled tight to his body, and he realized distantly that it would take nothing more than a brush of contact across his cock to make him explode. Hell, who was he kidding? If Spock would just rock against him he would explode. 

When Spock finally applied his ring fingers, everything inside of Jim froze and pulled tight. The base of his spine tingled, as did the back of his neck, and the bottom of his feet. His brain stopped working. There were too many endorphins flooding through his system for higher thought, and Jim recognized the feeling well. It was the same rush he felt on a free dive, or driving fast, or in the clutches of a fierce battle. It was the moment when the world narrowed to a single fixed point just before an orgasm. Except, it went on endlessly. On and on and on. He would have writhed and twisted with frustration, but Spock’s weight kept him from moving. He wouldn’t be able to survive the torment for long. How could he? How could anybody? The human body simply wasn’t built to withstand it. 

Jim opened his mouth to beg for his relief, but no sound escape. Not even a whisper. Not even to voice a warning that he was going to break. That he needed to stop and breathe and move and cum or he was going to _shatter_. 

His eyes fluttered open and Spock’s face was much closer. At some point, he had bent at the waist, and now his lips were in kissing distance. Jim wanted to kiss him, but he couldn’t even lift his head an inch. All voluntary motor control had been lost, and there was simply no tension in his muscles. He was caught in the inky darkness of Spock’s eyes, trapped there, drowning there. They might have been frozen like that for a minute or an hour, for a second or a year. The only way to mark time was by the rapid beating of his heart, and he couldn’t even feel that anymore. 

Spock’s right hand drifted up, over Jim’s jaw, until his fingers were placed over his face. Despite the loss of pressure on his neck, wave after wave of pleasure still crashed through him. An endless chain, an endless echo. He just needed one more push. Or maybe he needed to be released from Spock’s hold. Maybe there was no relief to be had. Jim felt like he was trapped, a prisoner, bound to the bed with the thickest ropes. If he could have, he would have pled. He would have begged. He would have sobbed for relief. 

Jim had experienced a mind meld before, and he knew to expect the subtle push on his mind. But this was not a subtle push. As soon as Spock’s mind touched his, there was an explosion of light. Everything burst at the same time. He felt his cock jerk and erupt, felt the sticky come catch on his pants and skin. He barely noticed it. He felt himself falling and flying, flung far from Spock and cradled close to him. The orgasm that ripped through him was echoed into Spock and then back through Jim. It happened again and again, until the same wave of pleasure must have echoed through him a dozen times. 

When that first crash of pleasure finally faded, a thousand other emotions that Jim didn’t have names for rushed to fill him. It was like he woke to a spectrum of colors he had never witnessed before.. He didn’t just feel Spock pressed against his chest or holding him to the bed, he felt him everywhere. He felt Spock in every cell and heard him in every thought. The lines of their bodies blurred and bled together and finally Jim just felt at peace. 

_Spock?_

_I am here._

There was more to be said. There were explanations and declarations and questions. But it was all so inconsequential. What more needed to be said between two people who seemed to be attached at the very soul? No, not the soul. What had Spock called it? The _katra_. Now his _katra_ would always have a piece of Spock’s, and Spock would always have a piece of his. Nothing could change that, Jim realized. Not even death could rend the bond they had created. They were entwined. Connected. Perfected. 

Through the haze, he felt Spock’s lips move against his. He responded to the soft kiss automatically, his mouth parting in silent invitation. They traded kisses as easily as they drifted in and out of each other’s minds. Jim wasn’t sure if Spock was keeping anything from him, but he knew that his entire life was open, from his most obvious desires to the darkest secrets and blackest moments that he had never shared with anybody. They belonged to Spock now, too, and he knew they would be safe there. 

Jim couldn’t mark the exact moment the meld ended. It was a gradual drift until he was alone again. He could open his eyes, and the pressure around his chest was gone. Jim though he could probably speak if he wanted to. He didn’t. He just wanted to lay there and look at Spock. 

“I hope that was an agreeable experience, Captain.” 

Jim nodded mutely. 

“I did not overwhelm you, did I?” Spock frowned, clearly concerned. “I did my best to…” 

“Spock.” 

“Yes?” 

“It was perfect. Lay down here with me.” 

“Are you tired?” 

Jim had thought so, until Spock actually asked the question. Then he realized that he wasn’t exhausted at all. In fact, he felt rather refreshed. 

“No, but I’d still like you to lay with me. If you wouldn’t mind.” 

Spock nodded and settled at Jim’s side. “You have a remarkable mind.” 

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Jim licked his lips. “T’hy’la. Am I pronouncing that right?” 

“Yes.” 

“Will you teach me more about Vulcan tradition?” 

“If you wish to learn.” 

“I do. But not right now. I have other plans.” 

“What are they?” 

“I need to shower because I’ve made something of a mess of myself. And then I’m going to do to you what you just did to me. I mean, I may not know about pressure points or mind melding, but I’m pretty sure I can make you scream.” 

Spock blinked. “I do not understand how that could be the desired effect.” 

“You will,” Jim promised. “Wait, you don’t have any other plans for the night, do you?”

“No. And if I had plans, I would cancel them.” 

“Do you think we just wasted the past three years? Because I kind of wish we had done this sooner.” 

“No, I do not believe that time was wasted. I believe _this_ happened when it was meant to.” 

Fate. Maybe Spock was right and they were fated. Jim didn’t know. Even after everything that the two of them had been through together, he still didn’t know if he believed in fate. But perhaps Spock was right. Perhaps they had always been destined for each other and now they had a lifetime to fulfill that destiny. 

The End.


End file.
